


Løper Med Ulver

by Cyberdyke



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-13 08:03:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3373937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyberdyke/pseuds/Cyberdyke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I've seen the way she looks at you. With a smile and a girlish blush. And you. Uninterested. Bored. You keep the same look for everyone, you're brother not included... You know what I think?" "I don't care what you think." Vilkas finally spoke, the hate in his voice easily heard. "I think you fancy the company of men much more than you do women."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Midas, 7, Second Seed, 4E 201  
　　  
　　Unclouded was the sunset sky over Whiterun, the sun dipping low over the grandiose mountain range, stippling the heavens with periwinkle and rose. Bright little stars began to bud through the falling sky, Heimskr’s rantings lifting upon a chilled breeze to beat cries of Talos harshly against my back. I took the steps in pairs of two, rising up the walkway to Jorrvaskr with a gaiety in my gut that couldn’t possibly be quenched.  
　　Opening up the large oaken doors that led to the mead hall of the overturned ship, I was greeted by a sight that made my heart yearn. A fight was brewing between a rather intimidating looking Nordic woman and a much weaker in appearance Dunmer. A man, tall as myself, though balding and with a scar over his left eye, shoved past me, asking to anyone around, “Are they at it again?” I watched a group of them cheer on the Nordic woman as she beat relentlessly on the Dunmer with her bare hands. Gods how I wished to watch it till the end, but I had more important matters to attend to. I quickly made my way over the staircase in the corner that led down into the living quarters.  
　　Once inside, I made my way down the hall, practically dancing on nervous feet over the crimson and gold dyed rug to the very end of the hallway where I would ask a man named Kodlak to join in his band of warriors.  
　　“But I still hear the call of the blood.” I paused when I heard a mumble from beyond closed doors. Stepping to the side, I set my ear against them and listened.  
　　“We all do. It is our burden to bear, but we can overcome it.”  
　　“You have my brother and I, obviously, but I don’t know if the rest will go along quite so easily.”  
　　“Leave that to me.” It was at that sentence that I tumbled through the unlocked doors, tripping my way over the carpet and into a standing position, doing my best to straighten up.  
　　“I would like to join the Companions.” I blurted out, pink rushing to my cheeks as I stood erect, hands in fists at my sides. Gods, I couldn’t have made that entrance more abruptly.  
　　“Would you now? Here, let me have a look at you.” Kodlak examined me with a seriousness in his eyes, judgment boring down onto my broad shoulders. “Hmm, yes, perhaps. A certain strength of spirit.”  
　　“Master,” interrupted the man in the corner, “you’re not truly considering accepting him?” My attention was drawn towards him, towards his crossed arms and the displeasure on his brow; towards his crystal eyes, surrounded by dark warpaint. Oh Gods.  
　　“I am nobody’s master, Vilkas,” Vilkas was his name, and what a mighty name, “And last I checked, we had some empty beds in Jorrvaskr for those with a fire burning in their hearts.”  
　　“Apologies, but perhaps this isn’t the time. I’ve never even heard of this outsider.” Vilkas gestured an armoured hand my way, too good to look upon me.  
　　“Sometimes the famous come to us. Sometimes men and women come to us seeking their fame. It makes no difference. What matters is their heart.” Kodlak’s own eyes seemed good enough to meet mine, but it wasn’t his attention that I wanted.  
　　“And their arm.” Vilkas added, his own pair crossed across his chest.  
　　“Of course.” Kodlak agreed. “How are you in battle, boy.” Boy? How dare he, I was no boy.  
　　“I can handle myself.” I answered, with a slight, unintentional tone of spite.  
　　“That may be so. This is Vilkas. He will test your arm.” My heart jumped at the idea. To be able to test myself against such a mighty man in combat; I absolutely reveled in the very concept.  
　　“Aye.” Vilkas rose from his seat, much smaller than I had anticipated him being; he only came up to my nose. I followed the smaller man out of the room, watching the way he walked, the way he carried himself with a haughty air lifting up his chin. I allowed my eyes to wander down his back, down, down a little lower to his hips. The way they swayed from side to side was like a tavern wench; such a mighty man had such an enticing walk, it was at all alluring and a tad humorous.  
　　“What’s your name, whelp?” Vilkas’ tone of voice brought me from his swishing hips.  
　　“What?”  
　　“Your name? You have one, don’t you?”  
　　A smile found its way to my lips. “Zakir. You can call me Zakir.”  
　　“Where are you from, Zakir.”  
　　Oh Gods, he said it, he said my name; never mind the way he spat it out, the mere fact that he allowed it to fall from his lips had me in a daze. “Rorikstead.” His response was nothing but a hum and I continued to follow his swaying hips out into the firelit yard.  
　　“The old man said to have a look at you, so let’s do this.” He boredly pulled his sword from its sheath and prepared his shield. I smiled to him, stood indifferently with my hand on my hip. “You don’t have a blade?”  
　　I shook my head. “No and I won’t be needing one.”  
　　“You’re sure?”  
　　“I’m sure.”  
　　I watched him shrug and immediately put up his shield as I prepared my fists. There was a slight standstill before Vilkas made the first move, lunging at me with his sword drawn out to his side. He was surprised, to say the least, when I dodged the blade, wrenching his shield from his hand and tossing it into the tables underneath the awning. He barely had time to process as my fist came up under his chin, sending him flying backwards onto his rear. Laughter sprung up from one of the tables that sat nearby. “Oh, he really got you, brother.” Farkas chided, seeming to enjoy his siblings defeat.  
　　Vilkas whipped a glare to his twin, slowly directing his crystal eyes towards me. He was no longer annoyed, but furious, glaring at me as his brow spoiled his own beauty. He got up to his feet, picking up his sword before shoving it into my arms. “Here’s my sword. Go take it up to Earlund to have it sharpened. And be careful, it’s probably worth more than you are, whelp.” And we were back to whelp. I watched him stomp away, but not before retrieving his shield from beneath one of the tables.  
　　“Don’t mind him.” Farkas commented, a thing of mead in his hand. “He’s always like that.” He gestured up to where Earlund was working at the Skyforge. “If you’re looking for Earlund, he’s right up there.”  
　　I followed where Farkas had pointed, finding the Nord bent over a grindstone. Before I could speak, the other man had already begun. “What brings you here?” The man carried that same rough, stifling tone that most Nords, myself included, held.  
　　“Vilkas sent me with his sword.” I held it out in my hand and presented the weapon to Earlund. The man stopped his work and stared upwards, squinting slightly at me.  
　　“I’m guessing you’re the newcomer then?” he asked, taking the sword from my hand and putting it to the grindstone with a metallic screech.  
　　“Does Vilkas,” Gods, his name, “Always send newcomers on errands?”  
　　“Oh, don’t worry about it, they were all whelps once; they just might not like to talk about it.” The blade hissed against the grindstone. “And don’t always just do what you’re told. Nobody rules anybody in the Companions.”  
　　I mulled over his sentence for a moment, thinking I wouldn’t mind it much if it were Vilkas doing the ruling. “Someone has to be in charge, though.”  
　　Earlund groaned. “Well, I’m not sure how they managed it, but they have. No leaders since Ysgramar.” He shifted on the grindstone, flipping the blade and sliding it across the spinning rock. “Kodlak is the Harbinger, and he’s sort of the adviser for the whole group, but every man is his own, every woman her own.”  
　　I stared down at the sparks that flew, stating, “Well I need to be going.” before turning from the man. Earlund was quick to stop me.  
　　“I have a favour to ask.”  
　　“What is it?”  
　　“I’ve been working on a shield for Aela. My wife is in mourning and I need to get back to her soon. I’d be much obliged if you could take this to Aela for me.” He gestured off at the shield resting up against the forge.  
　　Smiling, I went over and plucked it from its position. “I’m happy to lend a hand.” Walking back with a pace far quicker than normal for myself, I mad my way into Jorrvaskr, down the stairs, and into the living quarters. I found myself in Aela’s quarters where she stood speaking with Skjor. I interrupted their conversation and held out the shield in hand. “I have your shield.”  
　　She turned her red head towards me. “Ah, good, I’ve been waiting for this. Are you new here?”  
　　Skjor shifted on his feet and crossed his arms over his chest. “I told you, this is the whelp that Vilkas mentioned.” I caught myself perking up like a dog when I heard the name, wondering just what sort of things were said about me.  
　　“Ah, yes, I heard you gave him quite a thrashing.” Aela gave me a light punch on the shoulder that brought a smile to my face.  
　　“Don’t let Vilkas catch you saying that.” Skjor spoke up, heading his way over towards a chair to sit.  
　　The huntress turned to me again, eyes of silver similar to Vilkas’. “Do you think you could take Vilkas in a real fight?”  
　　“I don’t care for boasting.”  
　　“Ah, a man of action.” She patted me on the shoulder and set aside her shield. “Here, let’s have Farkas show you where you’ll be resting your head.”  
　　Skjor called for the Nord and instantly did Farkas show his face in the doorway. “Did you call me?”  
　　“Of course we did, icebrain.” Aela’s tone was harsh. “Show this newblood where the rest of the whelps sleep.”  
　　“New blood?” Farkas peered past the woman and to me. “Oh, I remember you. Come on, follow me.” I did as I was told and followed the man, noticing that his body wasn’t nearly as interesting as his brother’s. My eyes drifted from Farkas and caught sight of a rather bored looking man, sitting in a chair with book in hand. An immediate smile grew upon my lips.  
　　I hadn’t heard any of Farkas’ blathering, for I was much content to stare at the occupied man across the room. Farkas must have taken note of this, for he tried to sneak silently away, well, as silent as a hulking Nord in steel armour could. He bumped into a table as he squeezed past me, meandering off wherever -- I hadn’t cared. I suppose my stare was beginning to bore into Vilkas, for he slowly looked up from his book, glaring at me from beneath his brow. “What do you want, whelp?”  
　　  
Turdas, 8, Second Seed, 4E 201  
　　  
　　The clash of steel echoed up from Jorrvaskr’s training yard, rising almost to the same pitch as Heimskr’s ramblings. “Good move! You aren’t that bad with a blade.” Farkas panted, holding his own weapon out in front of him, prepared for another strike.  
　　“I much rather prefer my fists, though!” I called to the man, hyping myself up to rush at him again.  
　　“You! Whelp!” I skidded to a stop on the stones, turning to squint through the sunlight at the man who called me. “Go fetch my sword.”  
　　“Oh, come on, brother. You have two good legs, can’t you do it yourself?” Vilkas shot a glare at his brother, the sun beating down on his dark head.  
　　“Yeah, come on, Vilkas.” I whined.  
　　“No.” The Nord’s answer was stern, and he glowered at me until I finally shrugged and tossed off my blade to his brother.  
　　“Fine. Fine.” I turned from the both of them, making my way up the Skyforge where I found Earlund bent over the same grindstone. “Vilkas’ sword?” I asked, almost out of breath from my fight before.  
　　Earlund pointed me off to the forge where the blade lay leaning against it. I grabbed it and hurried down the steps, making my way to the mead hall in search of Vilkas. “Have you seen Vilkas?” I asked Aela as I began to make my way down the steps towards the living quarters.  
　　“I think he’s in his quarters.” the huntress answered me, but I was already making my way there. I found the man on his bed, cross legged, wearing only his greaves and what I would deem miner’s clothes. He didn’t glance up from his book when I embedded the sword into the wood above his head, inquiring whether or not it were sharp enough for him. I watched him run his fingers over the blade, wiping away at the blood on them with his thumb. He motioned for me to come closer and I did so hesitantly, taking a step back as he shot his hand out and grabbed me by the collar. He rammed my forehead into the wall behind him, taking his other hand and pressing it against the back of my head to keep me still. His hands, ungloved, were knotted through my blonde hair, gripping one of my braids as he pressed my face into the wood. Gods, pull my hair harder, it was all I wanted in that moment.  
　　“You piss me off.” Vilkas growled, close enough for me to feel his rattled breath on my neck. “Walking around here so proud of your damned fists.” I felt him yank my hair. “I should break those fists.”  
　　“Gods, I’d let you.” I was almost maybe positive I said that in my head. He must have caught the look of bliss on my face when he finally pulled my head from the wall, for he seemed absolutely livid with me, pushing me back into a standing position as he rose from atop his bed. “You want a rematch, right?” I must have been smiling, I wasn’t sure, but he threw a fist at me and it hit me square in the side of the head, knocking me back a step and into the hallway. Without a word he slammed the doors in my face.  
　　Night had come crawling rather quickly, the sun falling as the moon rose to take its position over Whiterun. I meandered my way into the yard, ignoring the light breeze that blew my hair into my mouth and peered about at the dummies all lined up, the tables sitting empty.   
　　I promptly blocked the fist that flew at me from the right, flipping Vilkas around as I pinned his arm to his back. I shoved the man forward. “So you came?” I exclaimed, putting my arms out at my sides as though asking for a hug.  
　　“I’m not one to back away from a fight.” and he put his fists up in front of himself.  
　　“Such a guarded position from a man so convinced he’s going to win.”  
　　Vilkas only glowered at me, once again making the first move as he rushed my way, punching at my head. I dodged his blow, slamming him in the side of the head with one of my worn fists as his head snapped backwards like a ragdoll. “Ouch. Sorry if my blows are a little strong, I haven’t sparred with anyone in a while and-” anything I could have said next was cut short when Vilkas smacked a fist into my chin, making me bite my tongue.  
　　I took a few quick steps back and spit a taste of iron onto the dirt. Vilkas ordered me to shut up and I clicked my jaw around, ready for another blow. Fists forward, our fight could begin.  
　　It had been but an hour or two that we were out in the yard, bloodied noses and busted lips shared amongst the both of us. Vilkas dodged another one of my blows, our prolonged battle leaving the both of us quite winded. “Your knuckles, they must be hurting by now.”  
　　A self superior smile founds its way to my lips. “And yours? How unfair of you it is to wear armour.” I shifted on my feet as we both stood at a standstill, trying in vain to catch our lost breath.  
　　“How foolish of you not to wear any.” Vilkas spat blood onto the dirt.  
　　“My body’s my armour.” And there I went again, babbling something that just made Vilkas even more furious with me than he had been before. I ducked backwards and avoided his next blow by a matter of inches, unaware of the palm rocketing up from beneath me. It slammed into my chin with a force enough to break it, actually knocking me down onto my back as ribbons of blood flew from my parted lips. It took me a moment to sit up cradling my mouth in my hand as I did so. “I get it, I talk too much. You don’t have to break my jaw because of it.” Vilkas stared down at me with eyes tired behind a scowl, extending his hand to me who sat in the dirt. “Beaten by my own attack and helped up by the enemy? I must be a disgrace.”  
　　I took his hand and he pulled me up to my feet rather quickly, shoving me backwards, back and back until I fell into the bricks of Whiterun’s walls, his hands gripping my twin braids as he groaned a, “Shut up,” into my mouth before closing the space with his lips. The kiss was vicious, like nothing I’d ever felt before from any of the many men I’d had, as he bit my lip, my tongue, drawing me in closer and closer like he wanted to devour me. I could taste his blood in my mouth, my own blood, and him, all of him, his hands gripping, yanking at my hair as my own hands clutched at his shirt, his sides, slipping their way beneath to bring nails down his stomach. He ground into me relentlessly, shoving me up against the wall as far as I could go. Without warning, I switched the position, slamming his back into the wall hard as I forced my hips against him, thrusting  
　　him into the stones. It seemed he wanted up, wanted in, wanted me, to the very point that I didn’t know what was happening anymore, to the point that I didn’t care; all I wanted was him, in this moment, his mouth, his hands, his hips, his entire body, I wanted them against me, now. It was a shame he beat me in the face again, punched me square in the nose and broke from my grasp, hurrying off, embarrassed it seemed, embarrassed, aroused, and totally livid. I was left alone, alone with only a tightness in my greaves and the others blood on my lips to accompany me.  
　　  
Tirdas, 13, Second Seed, 4E 201  
　　  
　　“That’ll teach those bandits.” Farkas smiled to me, handing me off my gold I earned for completing my latest job.  
　　I took it from the man, tucking it away into my belt and stopping the Nord before he could depart from me. “Ah, Farkas...” I placed a rough hand to his shoulder.  
　　“Need something?”  
　　“Have you ever noticed anything... Odd, about Vilkas?”  
　　Farkas stood carelessly with his hands hanging at his sides. “Odd? Like how?”  
　　I shrugged, attempting to hold a casual demeanor, though Farkas was easily fooled. “Nothing much, just whether or not he has any friends?”  
　　“Why do you have to say it like that?”  
　　His question made me blush. “Well, I mean any really good friends.”  
　　“I’m a good friend. And I’m his brother.”  
　　I sighed. “That’s not what I meant.” Farkas seemed unfazed by my annoyance. “I mean any good friends, like, lovers.”  
　　“Oh, lovers? Well, a lot of the girls around Whiterun like him a whole lot, enough to send him amulets and the like, but I’ve never seen him take any of them up on their offer. Only one or two, I think.”  
　　“Never any men?” I inquired of the other.  
　　“Men? What about men?”  
　　“Men as partners?”  
　　Farkas thought it over. “Like sparring partners?”  
　　“Sex partners.” My blunt answer was a bit louder than I wanted it to be and I noticed the stares I was receiving from the few other Companions around. “No.”  
　　“That’s it? No? None at all?”  
　　“No.”  
　　“Okay.” I took Farkas by the shoulder again, a tad relieved and a tad confused with his answer. I listened to him droll on about his latest bandit raid, something about cutting off such and such’s head -- I wasn’t listening, and I heard, muffled from beyond the walls, the breathy voice of a female.  
　　“That’s an amulet of Mara, is it not?” It was Ria.  
　　“It is.” answered the man she was speaking with, a familiar Nordic accent painting his tongue. This one was, it seemed, a distracted Vilkas. I ducked my head against the wall.  
　　“I myself have one, too.” Vilkas failed to answer her and I heard the shifting of clothing and metal clinking. “A man like yourself is not married yet?” She asked, a light gasp falling from her lips. He continued to ignore her as the rustling of clothes increased, as did the two Companions’ breathing. “Vilkas...” Ria continued to pester.  
　　“Will you just shut-up, I’m not looking to marry you.” I heard another feminine gasp as the sound of friction increased.  
　　“Vilkas, that hurts.” I could hear Ria complain.  
　　“Just shut up.” There was the sound of a struggle quickly followed by a loud smack. There was a moment of silence and Ria appeared in the hallway, hair mussed, disheveled. Tears were in the young woman’s eyes and she hurried past me. I stepped forward to peer into the open doorway at Vilkas. He held his guilty head in hands, armour strewn about, ‘miner’s clothes’ hanging loosely upon his muscled body. He once again slammed those doors in my face.  
　　The dark of the night was on Vilkas’ face as he made his way out into the yard, eyes flitting about for any sign of another. I watched him look about like a lost child, touching a hand to his soar face. I couldn’t tell what he was looking for; confirmation? Another fight? Or maybe he was looking for me.  
　　I stepped from the shadows, giving a slight smile as Vilkas hurried over to me. “What are you doing out here?” he questioned me, having to look up into my eyes.  
　　“I could ask you the same question. I might even get the same answer.” I bent forward slightly, meeting the other man’s gaze. “It seems you only ever show your true colours when you’re out here, so I came to ask you something.” I straightened up. “Now it’s your turn.”  
　　I watched him mull over his answer, shifting from foot to foot as though indecisive of the ground he stood upon. “Why were you discussing me with my brother?”  
　　“What do you mean?”  
　　“He told me the questions you asked. Rather personal ones and my brother is too stupid to know not to answer.” Vilkas stuck a finger into my chest. “Back off, Zakir.” he spoke my name with hatred and it only made me gravitate closer to him.  
　　I gripped the hand he was jabbing into my chest. “You can’t blame me for being curious, Vilkas. Not after what happened last night.” he tried to wrench his palm from mine, but I held strong. “I heard you with Ria, you know?” he didn’t answer me. “Tell me something, Vilkas, you’re not spoken for, are you?” he kept quiet. “I know you’re not.” I raised a hand to his neck, tracing his jugular until I came to rest at the collar of his armour. I tugged at the golden chain, pulling the pendant from Vilkas’ armour and holding it out in my palm. “You wear this, yet you aren’t married. Why is that?” I returned his pendant to him. “Such a cute thing like Ria. You’d expect her to have a suitor by now -- same goes to you.” I inched myself closer to Vilkas and the smaller tilted his head away, though kept his glare digging into my soul. “I’ve seen the way she looks at you. With a smile and a girlish blush. And you. Uninterested. Bored. You keep the same look for everyone, you’re brother not included... You know what I think?”  
　　“I don’t care what you think.” Vilkas finally spoke, the hate in his voice easily heard.  
　　“I think you fancy the company of men much more than you do women.” Vilkas immediately shoved me away, turning his attention towards the tables as he hurried towards the doors. “Why else would you have kissed me like that, touched me like you did?” Vilkas was steaming. “You loved the way I touched you, the way it felt to have me grinding against you, you loved it!” I was shouting at the Nord now, beginning to grow furious myself, and hurried my way over towards him to grab at his shoulder and spin him around. “Stop lying to yourself-”  
　　“Why?!” Vilkas snapped, gripping at my collar. “Why, huh? What’s it matter to you what I do with my life, who I choose to bed and who I choose not to, huh?” He shoved me back. “I see the way you look at me, I’m nothing more than a conquest to you, so why do you care?”  
　　I stood in the dirt, doing my best to gather my thoughts as he began to stomp away from me. “What about you? You hide behind that glare of yours but you look at me just the same!”  
　　Vilkas turned back towards me pointing his finger, hurrying up to me, quicker, quicker. “You’re one arrogant son-of-a-bitch.”  
　　“And you love it.” He had me by my braids again, pulling me down into another biting kiss and Gods did I readily accept him. It was back to the teeth, the tongues, the biting, scratching, gnawing. He kept pushing on me so hard that we both fell into the dirt, him atop me, tongue buried in my mouth. I could feel his heart hammering through his armour, his member aching in his greaves, and those hips, Gods, those damnable hips ground me right into the earth.  
　　I wanted this man, I needed this man. I flipped him over and pinned him to the ground, pressing my lips up against his ear, and hissed, trembling, “You want me to fuck you, right?” I was pulling on his hair now, trying to wrench out an answer. “Right?” the bastard was being stubborn and I gripped his jaw, pressing my forehead up against his own and almost pleadingly demanded of him, “Say it.”  
　　The shaking of his hips and the shiver on his breath gave him away. “Fuck me.”


	2. Beastblood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Nord allowed his tone to drop along with his face, becoming increasingly stern as he stared forward at me and asked one question, “Are you prepared to join your spirit with the beast world, Zakir?”

Fredas, 14, Second Seed, 4E 201

　　Last night was, to say the very least, absolutely amazing; it was rough, it was hot, it was phenomenal, everything I could have possibly dreamed of and more from that man. I could recall the way he tasted, his sweat stained neck and eager tongue, and could remember clearly his ungloved hands, how peculiarly soft they were, yet his fingernails were cutting, enough so that he left some pretty good scratches all up and down my back. I think my favourite part of him would have had to have been his hips -- fuck, those hips, the way they sunk down atop me, grinding, heaving, how they tightened with each rise and fall and how comfortably I fit into them, as though I was made for them, as though he were made for me.  
　　My appetite for Vilkas had yet to be sated by the following morning, and I found myself hurrying down the hall soon as I awoke in my bed, hurrying towards his quarters. Farkas, miserably, halted my venture with a hand on my shoulder. “Skjor’s looking for you.”  
　　The mention of Skjor had me raising an eyebrow. “What does he want?”  
　　“Don’t know. He just said he needed to talk to you before you do anything else.”  
　　Farkas left me scratching my head and wandering my way back down the hallway. Skjor and I were barely what one would call acquaintances, so what could he possibly want from me?  
　　I made my way into the mead hall and found the man sitting in a chair, presumably waiting for me it seemed. “You wanted to see me?”  
“I did. Your time, it seems, has come.” Time? What time? My time? Death time? My heart stopped in my chest. Maybe it was Vilkas, maybe Skjor heard us the other night, oh Gods, was I going to be dropped from the Companions?  
　　“What... What do you mean?” I finally choked up the nerve to ask. I was afraid for an answer.  
　　“Last week a scholar came to us. He said he knew where we would find another fragment of Wuuthrad. He seemed a fool to me, but if he’s right, the honour of the Companions demands we seek it out.” Honour? Such a strong word was spoken about a million times since I had joined. And just what did it mean? Not the word itself, but what significance did it hold? For such a noble group, they sure did seem to be harbouring a lot of secrets.  
　　“Just what does this have to do with me?”  
　　The half blind Nord before me crossed his arms over his chest. “This is a simple errand, but the time is right for it to be your Trial. Carry yourself with honour, and you’ll become a true Companion.” And there it was again: honour. “Farkas will be your Shield-Sibling on this venture, whelp. He’ll answer any questions you have. Try not to disappoint, or to get him killed.” I watched the Nord rise from his chair and meander off wherever else. I found my way back down into the living quarters and to Farkas.  
　　“I hope you’ve readied yourself.” Farkas fiddled with his armour, glancing up to me from his boot straps.  
　　“You’re going to be my Shield-Brother, right?” I was glad that it’d be a friend, rather than someone like, say, Njada, who I had nicknamed Nordberry for no particular reason other than I couldn’t bother to remember her real name.  
　　“So I’m told. Let’s see if you impress.” Farkas joked, making his way out of his room and down the hall.  
　　“So, why did Skjor call this my trial?”  
　　“I watch you to make sure you’re honourable.”  
　　“And what does it mean to have honour?”  
　　Oddly enough, Farkas hadn’t needed to think about this one. “If you’re honourable and strong, then I can call you brother.”  
　　I wasn’t very pleased with his answer, but of course it had to be a simple one; I was asking Farkas, after all.  
　　The sun had already begun to set by the time we had reached Dustman’s Cairn, stone stairs spiraling down into the old crypt to meet an equally old looking stone door. I found myself awing at the intricate stone carvings along almost every wall, grimacing as well at the multitude of cobwebs that decorated them. “Looks like someone’s been digging here. And recently.” Farkas’ words brought a heavy caution to the both of us and the air sat stagnant with dust. We crept silently, as silent as our clunking boots would allow on those echoing floors.  
　　I couldn’t deny the shudder that stung through my body at the sight of the corpse lying in front of us, not freshly dead, but long, long rotten; its skin was hollow and pale and it’s arms were scrunched up close against its body. “Be careful around the burial stones,” Farkas warned me, “I don’t want to have to haul you back to Jorrvaskr on my back.”  
　　“Even if you have, I doubt you’d be able.” I commented nervously. I didn’t like being so far underground.  
　　Farkas snorted at my comment, “I wouldn’t be so sure.” and turned from me. I had equally turned from him, seeming to have ignored his comment about being careful, and stepped a bit too close to a stale corpse hidden in the obscuring darkness of the crypt. Farkas had it’s head lobbed off the drougr before I could even make a move, and I admit, the scream that came from my lips was a bit less than manly.  
　　“It moved! They shouldn’t be moving!” I panicked and kicked the creature’s head across the room with an armoured foot.  
　　I watched Farkas roll his eyes at me and prop his sword upon his shoulder. “Who cares. Just watch out next time, I really don’t want to carry you back.”  
　　If there was one thing in this world that I couldn’t handle, by Gods it had to be dead things.  
　　Drougr after drougr, corpse after corpse, had left me in a more than sorry state. “Farkas...” I caught myself whining, “Why are we stopping?” The other large Nord ignored me, instead occupying himself with a set of carvings placed against the back of a stone throne. I in turn ignored him, tiptoeing towards a table and a few gold coins. Upon it sat a lever and of course I pulled it, and of course I immediately regretted it afterwards.  
　　Farkas came meandering up to me, hands on his hips. “Now look what you’ve gotten yourself into,” the other man scolded, “No worries. Just sit tight, I’ll find the release.”  
　　I presented him a look of self-pity, pity quickly turning to concern at the sight of those that stood behind him.  
　　“It’s time to die, dog!” One of the opponents yelled as the six of them circled around Farkas, brandishing silver blades.  
　　“We knew you’d be coming here.” shouted another.  
　　“Which one is that?” a woman asked, her blade pointed forward.  
　　“It doesn’t matter, he wears that armour, he dies.”  
　　The woman smirked as she advanced with her group. “Killing you will make for an excellent story.”  
　　“None of you will be alive to tell it.” I watched Farkas hunch forward, as though he were hit in the stomach, and what happened before me was as if it were from the depths of Oblivion itself. Farkas’ limbs began to grow, stretching out of their armour as the steel sunk into the fur that began to sprout from between the cracks. His face had morphed into that a wolves, but black in appearance, ghastly even, as fangs grew from his dripping maw. With his transformation complete, Farkas stood a good seven to eight feet, his wolf-like head rearing back and howling up at the ceiling. Long claws tore through each enemy in a dance of crimson, splattering chunks of adversary against the cages bars.  
　　I was at a complete loss for words, eyes fixed forward to the yellow ones before, set against a furred maw. I kept my attention to them until they disappeared beyond a wall. As soon as the cage bars were lifted I was free, stumbling forward on iron legs as Farkas greeted me with a sheepish smile. “I hope I didn’t scare you.”  
　　“What was that?” I asked in a whimper, focused now on Farkas’ armoured body, all fur and dripping maw gone.  
　　“It’s a blessing given to some of us. We can be like wild beasts. Fearsome.” As usual, Farkas’ answer was elementary.  
　　“Let me guess,” I needed to swallow down my fear before I could continue, “you’re going to make me into a werewolf?”  
　　“Oh no. Only the circle have the beastblood. Prove your honour to be a Companion, ‘Eyes on the prey, not the horizon’.” He waved for me to follow him. “We should keep moving, still the drougr to worry about.” And in transparent words spoken by a transparent man, my ever elusive question had been answered: That’s what they meant by ‘honour’.  
　　  
Loredas, 15, Second Seed, 4E 201

　　Finding the fragment of Wuuthrad was easy. Farkas and I had only to cut through a couple dozen drougr to get to it, not to mention more of our adversaries whom I later learned to call the Silver Hand, but who honestly cared? We obtained the fragment, didn’t we? Well, I cared, greatly so; I would have much rather been questioning what honour meant my entire life than have had to deal with so many corpses.  
　　Still clutching the fragment and having just arrived back at Jorrvaskr, I was in a foul mood as Vilkas led me out into the yard. “You can at least let me rest, right? I’m not really in the mood right now-”  
　　“Shut up, whelp, or I’ll do it for you.” And of course Vilkas was in an even fouler mood. I drug me feet like a child off to a rather unwanted bath as I followed Vilkas out into the yard, opening up Jorrvaskr’s doors as I was greeted by a gathering of my peers.  
　　“What’s this?” I questioned Vilkas, who led me towards the gathering. The half-circle consisted of a stone faced Farkas, a proud looking Aela and Skjor, and a smiling Kodlak in the centre. I watched the old man raise his arms out to the sides.  
　　“Brothers and sisters of the Circle, today we welcome a new soul into our mortal fold.” I felt a pang of joy move its way through me, accompanied by the slightest embarrassment. “This man has endured, has challenged, and has shown his valor. Who will speak for him?”  
Farkas immediately stepped forward. “I stand witness to the courage of the soul before us.”  
　　“Would you raise your shield in his defense?” Kodlak had his knowing eyes on Farkas now.  
　　“I would stand at his back, so the world might never overtake us.” It wasn’t one of my favourite lines; made me feel as though I were getting married.  
　　“And would you raise your sword in his honour?”  
　　“It stands ready to meet the blood of his foes.”  
　　“And would you raise a mug in his name?”  
　　“I would lead the song of triumph as our mead hall reveled in his stories.” And another line I hadn’t liked. The last thing I needed to hear was Farkas’ attempt at song.  
　　“Then the judgment of the Circle in complete. His heart beats with fury and courage that have united the Companions since the days of the distant green summers. Let it beat with ours, that the mountains may echo and our enemies may tremble at the call.”  
　　At the last line, the other four Companions spoke in unison, “It shall be so.” I held a grin upon my face as all the others left, earning a proud smile from Aela, an awkward pat on the shoulder from Farkas, and a shoulder rammed into mine by Vilkas.  
　　“Well boy, you’re one of us, now. I trust you won’t disappoint.” After Kodlak had gone, I hurried immediately to Vilkas’ quarters, finding the man sitting atop his bed with one boot off, the other halfway there.  
　　I slammed the door to grab his attention, locking it with a click before hurrying over towards him. “What-” I cut Vilkas off, shoving him back against the wall before taking my hand and tangling it through his hair. “Whelp-” He tried to speak again but I had my mouth to his, prying open his lips so that I could further explore, further recall the way he tasted. He attempted a breath but I hadn’t given it to him, taking both his hands and binding them with one of mine. I kept on until his chest was heaving, breaking the kiss to allow him to breathe some as I stared on into those crystalline eyes of his. “What?” he swallowed and took a breath, seeming as though any fight in him had gone.  
　　“Tell me.”  
　　“Tell you what?”  
　　I curled a knuckle under his chin and brought my face even closer, staring dead on into his soul. “Tell me what you want me to do to you.” It was a whisper, breathy, and hungry for an answer.  
　　Vilkas swallowed again, panted some, and answered my question with a lusty groan, “My hands.”  
　　“What about them?”  
　　“Tie them...”  
　　I reached my hands underneath his shirt, rising the article over his head and binding his wrists with the clothing. “What else?”  
　　“S-” he started, but then blushed, holding his bound hands up to his chest, averting his gaze, and slowly parting his legs. “S... Suck me.”  
　　I complied, undoing his belt and pulling one leg free from the clothing, leaving the rest of it hanging off his ankle. “And then what?”  
　　“Fuck me.” he answered without stuttering, without hesitation, and it was in his lacking reluctance that I found he wholeheartedly meant it, wanted it, and needed it. I swallowed him in one single motion and he jerked forward, released a very high in pitch whimper, and curling his toes, he yanked at my hair. “Too rough.” he winced and I pulled back, freeing him from the confines of my throat and was on the verge of apologising before he yanked hard on one of my braids. “Why’d you stop?”  
　　“You said it was too rough.” He yanked on the braid again as if to say, “Keep going.” but he was silent. A smile came creeping onto my face as a glare came creeping onto his. I shrugged my shoulders, kept my smile, and continued on, bobbing my head in his lap. It seemed that Vilkas quite enjoyed pain, enjoyed when I caught my teeth on the back of his head, enjoyed the acute stimulation, so much so to the point that Vilkas actually, honestly asked me to beat him. I wearily complied, and despite the blood from his nose making our kiss taste the utmost like iron, I don’t think he’d ever enjoyed himself more than when I was plunging in and out of him, thrusting him into the wall, hands bound behind his back, biting a wound into my shoulder that would most definitely leave a scar. It was the best lay I’d ever had, with any man I’d ever had, and I enjoyed it immensely as did Vilkas by the sight of his dripping length, clawing hands, and biting teeth. I was right on the verge of climax when Farkas came knocking on the door.  
　　“Brother, have you seen Zakir?”  
We both froze in that moment, Vilkas wearily meeting my eyes. I put a finger up to my mouth and shook my head. “Ah, no.” I watched Vilkas hold back a moan as I slowly, sensually, dug into him, pausing after a few more thrusts as I poured myself into the man writhing, panting before me.  
　　“If you see him, tell him Skjor is looking for him. He can find him at the Skyforge.”  
　　I held the man in embrace as Farkas’ footsteps grew further and further away and I mumbled, “Sorry.” into his ear, but I don’t think Vilkas minded much, seeing as he too had risen to Sovngarde in the same moment I had, my stomach sticky and glistening in the candlelight. “Are you okay?” I asked the Nord beneath me, his answer a nod and he tried to rub at his eyes only to find that his hands were still bound. He held them out for me and I untied them.  
　　“M’tired.” he mumbled, pushing me off, (and out), of him and rolling onto his side, tucking himself up in a blanket as I stood staring at him. This was always the part I hated, the part I dreaded the most, standing, naked, just staring. He always shoved me off, shoved me away. The closest I’d ever get to him had passed and now I was left, empty, feeling a void in my heart that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. It was a strange feeling, almost as though I was sad, upset with the other man. I pushed it down and dressed myself, leaving without a goodbye and heading out to find Skjor.  
　　He stood beneath the Skyforge like Farkas said he’d be, arms crossed over his chest, a rain I hadn’t noticed or cared for during my time spent with Vilkas beating down against the half-blind Nord. “Are you prepared?” he asked me, having to raise his voice over the wind that was picking up.  
　　“Prepared for what?”  
　　He ignored my question and carried on talking, “Here’s all you need to know. Jorrvaskr is the oldest building in Whiterun. The Skyforge was here long before it was.” Thunder roared in the sky as rain slapped against the back of my head. “And the underforge taps an ancient magic that is older than men or elves. We bring you here to make you stronger, new blood. Now let’s move.” Another crash of thunder brought itself screaming down to earth and I followed Skjor into the underforge. I was in awe of what I saw; the entire underforge was built of stone, the ceiling low enough for me to touch. There, in the centre, stood an alter dish, a werewolf looming over it. The beasts eyes met mine, yellow and glowering, swaying upon it’s hind legs. “I’m glad you came. It’s been a long time since we’ve had a heart like yours amongst our numbers.” I wasn’t processing a word of Skjor’s thanks as I walked up to the alter. I kept my eyes to the beast before me, it’s barrel chest heaving, a low growl uttering from it’s throat. “That pitiful ceremony behind the hall does not befit warriors like us. You are due more honour than some calls and feasting.” Skjor directed his hand to the beast in front. “I would hope you recognise Aela, even in this form. She has agreed to be your forebear.” I stared upon the creature with a newfound knowledge, Aela, the beautiful woman she had been before, was now looking quite feral. “We do this in secret because Kodlak is too busy trying to throw away this gift we’ve been granted.” Skjor was at Aela’s side. “He thinks we’ve been cursed, but we’ve been blessed. How can something that gives this kind of prowess be a curse?” Thunder thudded beyond the forge. “So we take matters into our own hands. To reach the heights of the companions, you must join with us in the shared blood of the wolf.” The Nord allowed his tone to drop along with his face, becoming increasingly stern as he stared forward at me and asked one question, “Are you prepared to join your spirit with the beast world, Zakir?”


End file.
